“Mind if I join you?” I ask, stepping onto the balcony next to her. “It’s getting a bit intense in there.”
Jazz startles for a moment. “Oh! Trixie. Of course. The party is overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Overwhelming is one word for it,” I agree, settling beside her at the railing while trying to look like someone enjoying romantic ocean views instead of someone calculating escape routes. “But, hey, the view out here is incredible.”
“Yes,” Jazz says with a sigh, looking distracted with more pressing matters than scenic appreciation. “There’s something calming about the endless expanse of water. Makes our problems seem smaller somehow.”
“Or makes them seem more urgent,” I say, noting how her hands grip the railing with enough tension to leave fingerprints in the metal. “I guess it depends on the nature of the problems.”
Jazz belts out a short-lived laugh, but she looks forlorn still the same. “You’re very perceptive, Trixie. I can see why Ransom finds youso intriguing.”
Richard materializes beside us with the timing of a ghost who’s been waiting for exactly this moment. “She’s terrified,” he observes as he inspects the woman. “Her entire composure is cracking like ice in hot water.”
I completely agree.
“As a psychiatrist,” I begin as I lean her way, “you’d have easy access to both lorazepam and digoxin, wouldn’t you?”
A gasp escapes her. The woman’s entire body freezes solid as her confidence evaporates like mist over the ocean.
She gags in response. “I’m not sure what you’re implying,” she says with careful composure, but she can’t quite mask the panic creeping into her voice. “Those are common medications in psychiatric and cardiac care. Why would you bring them up?” She looks at me unblinking because she knows exactly why I brought them up.
“I guess they are common,” I agree without raising my voice one octave. I’ve learned that the best confessions come from people who talk themselves into corners. “And easily obtainable through legitimate channels when you know the right people.”
Richard nods with confirmation. “She was always asking Lavender about her heart condition, claiming it was for research on stress-related cardiac issues. Lavender gave the woman her complete medical history.”
“But then you’re able to write prescriptions yourself, aren’t you? I bet if I did a little digging, I could confirm the fact that you were in possession of them.”
“It was for research,” Jazz says quickly, seizing on the explanation like grabbing a life preserver. “I was conducting studies on drug interactions. Particularly, how cardiac medications affect psychiatric treatment outcomes in elderly patients.” She gives a curt smile as if to say she’s bested me.
“Interesting research,” I say, just a hint louder than the roaring wind. “Especially when combined with inside knowledge about a specific patient’s medical vulnerabilities.”
Jazz’s professional facade crumbles in an instant. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but I resent the implication that I would misuse my medical knowledge.”
“Lavender didn’t steal your research,” I announce as all the dots finally connect. “You stole hers.”
She turns her head so fast you’d think I struck her.
“That’s ridiculous,” she protests with a fake laugh, but her voice carries enough desperation to let me know her well-constructed lies are collapsing in real time. “Lavender and I were partners. We collaborated on everything.”
“You were partners until she discovered you were planning to publish her work under your own name,” I continue. “Years of research on therapeutic polyamory and mental health outcomes—research that was worth millions in publishing deals and speaking engagements.”
Richard’s countenance glows a brilliant shade of blue against the dark sky. “That’s why she was so secretive toward the end. She’d figured out what Jazz was planning.”
“She confronted you, didn’t she?” I press, watching Jazz’s face cycle through emotions like someone experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously. “Lavender discovered your plan to steal her life’s work and present it as your own.”
“It wasMYwork!” Jazz explodes with fury. “Idid the research!Iconducted the interviews!Ianalyzed the data! Lavender just provided the funding and the publicity connections! Geez, the woman was nothing but a walking, talking ego!”
“So you decided to eliminate the problem,” I say with a grim satisfaction. “You orchestrated this entire cruise scenario, didn’t you? You booked it six weeks ago and manipulated Lavender into joining you?”
Jazz barks out a bitter laugh. “It was brilliant, actually. I told her it would be perfect for recruiting new participants for our research. She never suspected I was planning to frame that sanctimonious Claudette for her murder.”
“Frame Claudette,” I repeat. And there you have it. “Because a traditional marriage counselor with a history of threats against Lavender would make the perfect suspect.”
“Exactly,” Jazz practically purrs with professional pride. “Everyone knew about their rivalry. Mark’s affair with Lavender, Claudette’s affair with Richard—Claudette’s careerwas built on hypocrisy, her desperate need to eliminate anyone who threatened her reputation. She is the obvious suspect.”
Richard grows rigid with anger, and his aura takes on a red-hot hue. “She used our affair against Claudette. Turned our moment of comfort into a weapon for her murder plot.”
“The digoxin and lorazepam combination was particularly clever,” I continue, keeping Jazz talking while my brain processes how to land her in handcuffs. “Using Lavender’s own heart condition against her, combined with your professional knowledge of psychiatric medications. You said yourself you researched the topic. It’s clear you gleaned a deadly thing or two.”
